Friday, August 22, 2008

Quack off

During my daily journey on foot from Charlestown to Boston, I've had to come to terms with one of my bigger fears. Which is being struck and killed by a Duckboat. It's not that I've had many close calls with the large tour buses, or that the drivers seem particularly reckless, it's just that there are so many of them along the Freedom Trail route that the likelihood seems so great. If I had to come up with a list of the most embarrassing ways to die, this would be somewhere at the top. I can't think of many lamer ways to end your life than being killed by a renegade bus in the shape of a duck that encourages its riders to quack at pedestrians. Imagine the shame your parents would feel as a result of the news of your (very tragic) death being made public. Of course they would be overwhelmed by grief to learn of your passing. They would probably never be the same, for a while, until they kicked up their workout regimen, took a vacation to the Bahamas, and adopted a new hobby like metalworking. They would wait weeks to auction off your belongings and turn your bedroom into an entertainment room. But the grief would always be tinged with the humiliation that their own child was run over by a giant purple duck. I guess one of the Super Duckboats would be slightly less mortifying because it is a lot more threatening and mutant looking and was probably previously used in warfare. I can only imagine the lengths my parents would go to to conceal the circumstances of my demise.

Grief-stricken funeral attendee (wiping tear from eye): I'm so sorry to hear of your beautiful, talented daughter's passing.
Dad: Thank you. She was undoubtedly the better-looking of our two children. Unfortunately, our daughter also had a very serious drug problem.
Attendee: I thought it was ... I heard she was struck by a Duckboat on her way to work.
Dad: That is not true. Ashley suffered an overdose from a combination of the many, many recreational drugs she took.
Attendee: But both the Boston Herald and the Globe had an article ...
Mom: Drugs. She injected most of them.

It doesn't hurt to listen for quacks while crossing an intersection.

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